


Depths of Me

by Zedrobber



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Artistic licence taken with the scope/uses of Jon's powers for sheer Horniness, Canon Asexual Character, Coming Untouched, Consensual Compulsion, Discussions of sexuality, Jon engages in sexual activity, Jon uses his powers on Martin consensually, M/M, Masturbation, Sex positive asexual Jon, Slight Dom/Sub, and Martin likes it, consensual pain, descriptions of physical and mental discomfort, happy cabin times, jon uses his powers on martin, sexual fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26688031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zedrobber/pseuds/Zedrobber
Summary: Jon accidentally interrupts Martin taking care of himself and inadvertently gives Martin a taste of his powers. Martin is keen to discover exactly how much he can take.Please read the tags and be aware this is a canon-ace Jon fic where he also engages in sexual activity.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 20
Kudos: 269





	Depths of Me

“Martin? Are you in h- oh-!”

“Ah - shit - sorry - I wasn’t - well, I was, but -” Desperately, Martin lunged across the bed and dragged the nearest blanket - a yellow, fluffy monstrosity - over his lap, his face flushed pink in helpless embarrassment. “I uh - I - did you - need something?”

“Oh,” Jon said, blinking slowly and then again, several times in rapid succession. “Oh - I - no, I was just - wondering where you - I’m sorry, I’m interrupting, I should go -”

“No! No, it - it’s alright, I’ll just - I’ll - “ He started to rearrange the blanket, uncertain as to how best to go about trying to pretend he hadn’t just been caught with his cock in his hand. 

“No need. You were clearly busy. I’ll go.”

“Wait - Jon - you - you don’t  _ have _ to?” His heart pounded in his ears, a dull, painful thunder that sounded loud enough that he was certain Jon could hear it. “I mean. I - I don’t mind if you - wanted to, I don’t know, maybe - stay?”

“You’ve never asked me before,” Jon said, frowning. “I was under the impression that it was - private.”

“Well - I didn’t want to bother you. There were, ah, rumours -”

“About what, exactly?”

“That you weren’t - aren’t, I suppose - interested in that sort of thing. So I didn’t want to ask in case it was - I don’t know, rude, somehow? I thought it best if I just - took care of myself - “

“Oh. People - talked about that?” Jon deflated a little, irritated and uncertain.

“A bit, I guess? Not like - all the time, or anything. Just - once or twice. Is it - true?”

“I suppose it is,” Jon sighed. “It’s not something I’ve ever given much thought, in all honesty. It just - wasn’t something I ever really needed.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Martin. I’ve disappointed you.”

“No! No - I mean, I suppose I hoped - but no. Not at all. I’m just - glad you’ve told me. Really."

Jon started to leave again, and then hesitated, glancing down to the blanket bunched messily over Martin’s knees. 

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be able - no, if I’ll ever  _ want  _ to,” he said, as though it took some effort to form the words. "I should probably tell you that now, before-"

“Oh! That’s alright, Jon. Really it is. It doesn’t matter to me if you do or not. I can just -” Martin made a vague shrugging gesture towards his lap. “Sort myself out.”

“Yes, I suppose you can.”

“Have you - ever?”

“Have I ever masturbated? I’m asexual, Martin, not dead.”

“Not everyone does!” Martin said defensively, feeling his face redden all over again at the thought of Jon taking his own cock into his hand, perhaps slowly, leaning back, taking his time -

“I can promise you, Martin, it does  _ not _ look like that. It’s much more - perfunctory.” 

“ _ Please _ don’t do that.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. You were just - projecting. Loudly.”

“It’s fine. Anyway. Are you - staying, or not? Because I should probably -”

“Ah. I - don’t know.” Jon cast him a vaguely perplexed, nervous expression. 

“If you want to leave, you can,” Martin reassured him. “And you don’t need to -  _ do _ anything, if you stay."

“Alright.” Awkwardly, Jon dragged the only armchair a little closer before settling into it with an air of academic interest.

For one wild, almost hysterical moment, Martin wondered what he was doing. Was he really about to try and get himself off with Jon  _ right there _ just - staring at him?  _ Could _ he? He had not thought this offer through  _ at all _ .

Well, he was going to give it a go. Jon was looking at him with a sort of intense, earnest curiosity that was  _ almost _ arousing, if he squinted. Really squinted.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Martin pushed the blanket aside, steadfastly not looking into Jon’s eyes. Somehow he was still mostly hard; a few careful, twisting strokes of his hand was all it took to have him heavy and hot against his palm again. Swallowing, he risked a nervous glance up to Jon’s face and found him transfixed, watching with single-minded focus which - okay, _ that _ was pretty hot. He could feel the warm, prickling sensation of being  _ seen _ by more than just Jon’s human eyes as well; a weight that should have been crushing but wasn’t, creeping up the back of his neck and into his scalp. It felt -  _ good?  _ Scary, but good. Half of his mind recoiled in terror from the sensation. The other half sought it out, pushing against it, testing the shape of it in his thoughts.

He choked back a moan, relaxing into the otherworldly scrutiny as much as he dared, and heard Jon’s short intake of breath in response.  _ Oh, that’s.. _ . _ interesting. _

For a moment, the only sounds were Martin’s quiet, shallow breathing and the slick slide of his hand on his cock. The overwhelming knowledge of being  _ seen _ should have been too much - it nearly was, if he was truthful - but it was also thrilling in a way he couldn’t recall ever having felt.

“Does it - feel good?”

  
  


The question - tentative thought it was - made Martin shiver with something not entirely arousal. He didn’t know how to answer - did Jon mean how his hand felt around his cock, or did he mean the heavy weight of the force of his gaze, for a start - but there was a gentle tug from somewhere beneath his ribcage, insistent and spreading through him with tingling, pin-prick brightness; a strange, inevitable sort of pull that coaxed his mouth into compliance regardless.

“Yes,” he said, and once the first word was out the rest spilled from him with little encouragement. “Yes, it feels - incredible. Amazing. It’s never - never felt like this before. I can feel -” he paused, shuddering as another tug pulsed through him, stronger, an itching sort of pleasure coming with it. “Feel you - watching. All of you.”

He forced his eyes open, barely realising he had closed them, and couldn’t help the whine that escaped him. Jon was leaning forward in the chair, eyes dark and almost unblinking. His breathing seemed faster, a staccato, uneven quality to it. 

“Jon, I know what you’re doing. Asking.”

“Oh. Oh, I’m  _ sorry _ , Martin. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s - no, it’s fine. It feels -”

“Yes? How does it feel?”

That was more deliberate- still nowhere near what Martin knew he could do, but tinted with a touch of careful, inexorable purpose regardless. Martin groaned softly, swearing under his breath as he felt that pulling lurch surge through him again. Instinctive, primal fear at the unfamiliar, probing exploration mingled with almost bewildered arousal - why was this  _ so good? _ He knew it wasn’t like this when Jon did it to other people; was it just because of who they were to each other, or did he have a severely neglected voyeuristic kink he hadn’t known about? He experimented with resisting the tugging until it was almost too much, feeling prickling warmth suffusing through him until it was  _ just _ shy of actual pain. It was - exhilarating, almost, along with the terror. There was a definite pleasure in trying to hold back, like the breathless frustration of slowing your hand when you desperately needed to come. 

He hardly realised when he started to babble out a response, trembling with the unwinnable effort to control his speech; “- it feels like I’m flying, like I could fall at any moment, all pins and needles and electricity. I don’t want to hold back but I  _ want _ to try, want to feel like you’re there inside me somehow, bleeding into every inch of my mind -” 

It was true, all of it, though in words Martin hadn’t intended to use, necessarily. Jon made a low, throaty hum of approval, a sound reminiscent of someone enjoying a delicious morsel of food. 

_ Is he - does this feel good to him?  _ Martin thought, half deliriously.

“Sorry, Martin, but - yes, in short. It seems to make me - well, me  _ and _ the - it feels...good. It’s like - a feedback loop. The fear is somewhat  _ tainted _ with your, uh, arousal. Should I stop?”

“God, please no - don’t stop, Jon. I can take more.”

“Are you certain?”

“ _ Please. _ ”

“Alright, then.  _ Tell me _ . Tell me - what do you think about when you do this, alone, at night? Tell me what you imagine when you -” the briefest of pauses while Jon searched for the words “ - make yourself come. I want to know  _ everything _ .” His voice had changed, dropped to that low, rumbling growl that made Martin’s ears ring with whining static and his cock throb in his hand.  _ God, yes. _

The pressure was  _ incredible  _ and instantaneous. His breath caught in his throat with a gasping, choking cough, his whole body flaring with heat that was almost more than he could bear. His chest  _ ached _ , tight like it had been clamped in a vice and was being dragged bodily from him. Fear blazed through him, and he vaguely registered Jon’s groan of satisfaction as if from a great distance. Martin forced his muscles to relax into it, fought past the animal-terror telling him to run, seeking the pleasure he knew was there, the delicious prickle of being  _ known _ and seen and wanted - he could feel Jon’s mind, searching through his, could feel the inexorable, unstoppable pull of the question that demanded a response whether he wanted to answer or not. He pushed against it, shaking and euphoric with the tremulous power of resistance and the knowledge that he couldn’t hold it for more than a few moments before he would be compelled to reply. The sheer  _ power _ of it was staggering, and he knew even this wasn’t Jon’s full extent, knew that if he actually turned all of that power onto him, Martin wouldn’t be able to withstand a single second of it without permanent damage and searing agony. He would unpack the worrying jolt of arousal that thought shot through him later.

“I -” he found himself beginning, swallowing thickly as he felt his grasp on control slipping from him, his thoughts drawn out from him in a relentless stream of words far more eloquent and filthy than he could ever usually manage. “It’s always you. I’ve thought about  _ everything _ . I used to watch your mouth when you spoke and imagine your lips wrapped around my cock, imagined curling my fingers into your hair and twisting. I imagined finding you in some dark, undisturbed corner of the Archives, pushing you against the shelves and letting you feel how hard I was. I thought about you fucking me. I thought about having you over your own desk. Sometimes I just thought about  _ kissing  _ you and that was more than enough to get myself off. I knew - I knew it would never happen, I’d never have  _ tried _ or anything, but my fantasies were safe and I thought - if it was just in my head, it wasn’t wrong, it wouldn’t hurt anyone, you know? I imagined feeling you inside me, I imagined you forcing me, hard and fast and vicious. I thought about your hands on me, about how they’d be deft and clever like your tongue. I imagined - later, anyway, - making love to you. I don’t know why that was later, maybe because I actually  _ knew _ you by then and it didn’t feel so strange to think about something so intimate. There’s nothing I haven’t wanted to do with you even though I knew I probably never would.” 

He should be embarrassed - he probably would be, after this was over - but he couldn’t manage to be right now, not with Jon staring at him with dark-eyed, predatory triumph, his shoulders hunched like a hyena over a meal, his mouth half-open with just the barest hint of teeth visible. He could see Jon’s chest heaving, could see the tremble of his fingers, white-knuckle gripping the arms of the chair. He looked dangerous and delirious and utterly, wonderfully undone, and Martin couldn’t hold back the pleading whimper that escaped his throat. 

“Please, - Jon, I -”  _ God, don’t make me ask. _ His cock was heavy and aching in his hand. He was  _ so close _ , just -

“What do you want, Martin?”  _ You bastard. _ The tiny twitch of a smile on Jon’s lips made it clear he had at least caught the gist of that sentiment. “ _ Tell me _ .” 

“I-  _ ah-” _ The pressure on his chest  _ squeezed _ , just once, like a threatening fist closing and opening. He could feel his blood thrumming through him, the pulse in his temples wild and scared, every muscle taut and shaking. He gritted his teeth against it, his blood burning through him, but couldn’t hold it back, already exhausted from the effort. “I - want to come, Jon. Please, I need it, I need -” He was horrified to hear himself sob, a wretched, gulping noise. “ _ Please.” _

The noise, the heat, the pressure - all of it swept back suddenly, ominously, the outward pull of a tide just before a tsunami. Martin could feel it there at the edge of his consciousness, held back by the barest of threads, ready to come tearing back in. Jon leaned forward, breathing heavily, and nodded, once. “Go on.” 

As the floodgates opened again and the searing, agonising pleasure-pain came crashing back through him, Martin finally, blessedly gave into it totally, trusting Jon to keep him safe as he came with a savagery that he hadn’t thought possible. He cried out, wordless and hoarse, his vision white-hot and sparking for a long, breathless moment where the grip on his chest felt like dying and the pounding of his heart might be his last - and then it was leeching out of him, slow and gentle and leaving him hollowed-out and blissful, his body suddenly boneless. 

He fell backwards onto the bed, eyes closed, unable to do anything other than breathe and wait for the world to stop spinning. 

Eventually, and somewhat sheepishly, Martin propped himself heavily up onto his elbows to look at Jon.

He was still sitting in the armchair, leaning back against the headrest with an expression on his face that fell somewhere between satisfied, bewildered and utterly, thoroughly mortified. He looked - smaller, somehow; the looming power that had been in him dissipated like mist. 

“Are you - are you alright?” Martin managed, struggling up to a less awkward position in sudden concern. 

“Y- yes, Martin. I’m - yes.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced, his brow furrowing for a moment.

“Are you sure? You look - I didn’t hurt you, did I? Or - make you - uncomfortable?”

“No, no - nothing like that, Martin. I promise.”

“Right. Right. So - what -”

“I. It, uh. It appears that I - what I mean to say is, it seems that the - Eye - fed on your fear - but, that it also allowed a certain amount of the - of your - arousal - to come through with it. And, well - it - felt -  _ good _ . Really good. Both parts.”

“Did you -?” Martin asked, wonderingly, feeling a warmth creeping up his neck. “You know. Come.”

With great dignity, Jon replied, “It would appear so, yes.” It was only then that Martin noticed a distinctly darker spot on the front of Jon’s trousers. 

“Oh.  _ Oh. _ ”

“Did you - enjoy it?” Jon asked, and there was a genuine note of uncertainty in his question that made Martin’s heart hurt.

“Yes! Oh -  _ god _ , Jon, it was - perfect.”

“I -must admit, I enjoyed watching you, more than I thought I would.”

“You did?”

Jon huffed out a quiet, self conscious laugh, half-smiling. “Considering  _ watching _ is what I do, I should have probably guessed, but yes. But - it doesn’t mean -” he trailed off, shrugging. “I’m still asexual, Martin. I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable doing anything more than this. If that’s - if - Look. All I’m saying is that I’d understand.”

Martin squinted at him as if he was stupid, bewildered. “Yes Jon. I know. We talked about this before? I don’t care. Do you really think I’m only with you because I hoped you’d have sex with me?”

“Well, I heard your - fantasies, so -”

“They were  _ fantasies _ , Jon! Not reality. I wasn’t expecting them to come true. They were - private. Just -  _ thoughts _ . Nothing more. You - the  _ real _ you, I mean, the one who - I don't know, makes me tea in the mornings because I'm too sleepy to move, and listens when I talk about things you don't care about, and makes sure I have an extra blanket at night because my toes get cold - that's better than any fantasy I've ever had. I wouldn't change that for anything. I wouldn't change  _ you. _ Now can you  _ please _ get into bed with me so we can cuddle, because I just came so hard I think I've broken a rib and you don't have a spare anymore."

"Yes. Alright, Martin," Jon said with fond amusement, slotting himself against the familiar warmth of Martin's body. "I can do that."

"Good," Martin mumbled, drowsy and soft and already half asleep. His breath was comforting against Jon's cheek. 

"But not for long," Jon clarified, snuggling in closer anyway and tucking his head under Martin’s chin. "I'm... _ sticky,  _ and I'm not sure I like it."

Martin's gentle laugh as he drew his arms tighter around Jon was the only answer he got before they both succumbed to sleep.

  
  



End file.
